


The Sands of Time on the Beach of Eternity

by Gloomier



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Almost Drowning, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Reunions, bagginshield summer adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 07:18:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15858867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier/pseuds/Gloomier
Summary: There’s something to be said about how magical walking up and down a beach can be. As someone who has done this very thing since he was very young, Bilbo Baggins can attest to said magic. The only thing he wasn’t counting on was how walks along the beach seemed to draw on the mysterious and unexpected.But perhaps things were always meant to happen this way.





	The Sands of Time on the Beach of Eternity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Bagginshield Summer Adventure event on tumblr. My prompt was “Walk on the beach.”

Bilbo has never enjoyed driving long distances, the car rides make him feel cooped up and irritable. He avoids the spur of the moment road trips many of his cousins are fond of whenever possible, however  _ this _ particular trip has never bothered him.

He turns off the road leading to Esgaroth and onto a dirt road ending in a parking lot. Bilbo parks his car away from the few cars already parked, and takes nothing with him—making sure the doors are locked behind him. There are a couple trailheads, but Bilbo follows the one nearest to his car and walks a sedate pace, admiring the towering trees as he goes.

Summer is nearing its end, especially in this region; it’s cooler here compared to Hobbiton, which is quite pleasant. Thankfully it means there won’t be as many people, if any, around with the new school year already in full swing, and the vacationing season having ended. His trail ends at an empty, sandy beach of the Long Lake.

There’s a bench just off the trail where the dirt ends and the sand begins. Bilbo sits down and takes a moment to pull his shoes off, socks following after and stuffed into his shoes. He digs his feet into the sun-warmed sand and curls his toes down into the cool sand hiding beneath.

Bilbo has walked this beach since he was a baby swaddled in his mother’s arms, and surprisingly the region has changed little over the years.

The lake is as beautiful as ever—a crystal clear mirror giving way to a mesmerizing black abyss—even with the fishing town of Esgaroth perched at the water’s edge. The still water captures the image of the surrounding Greenwood forest and the rocky hills that hug the lake.

In the distance the lonely peak reaches for the sky.

There’s always been an inexplicable familiarity that blossoms inside him, each time he looks upon the majesty of the mountain. Bilbo tells himself that it’s the breathtaking sights and peacefulness of the outdoors that keeps him coming back every year. It’s the one family tradition Bilbo has solemnly vowed to keep.

So Bilbo walks up and down the length of the beach.

He’s never believed in fate, or destiny for that matter—his mother always told him that he was the captain of his own ship, sailing on the unpredictable ocean of life—but for as long as Bilbo could remember there has always been an ominous emptiness within himself. It makes him anxious, and on occasion he’s dreamt of being consumed by it.

Being here, even for a short while, takes his mind off it.

The hours slip by and before Bilbo knows it the sky is nearly dark. He slips his shoes on, stuffing his socks in his pocket, and returns to his car. He’s made reservations ahead of time at the small bed and breakfast in Esgaroth, so when he walks into the Black Arrow Bed and Breakfast his check-in is quick and he’s soon falling into one of the most comfortable beds he’s ever had the pleasure of laying in—next to his own of course. He has supper in the dining room down stairs, but not before washing off his feet, dumping errant sand out of his shoes, and putting both his socks and shoes back on.

After dinner Bilbo sits out on the little balcony attached to his room with a glass of wine. He has a perfect view of the Lonely Mountain, lit up by the light of the full moon.

For the rest of the week Bilbo splits his time between the beach and perusing the little shops in Esgaroth. He considers driving up to Dale, perhaps even venturing into Erebor, for a day but an uneasy twist of his insides makes the decision for him.

In the afternoon of his last day of his getaway, Bilbo finds he is not the only one on the beach. A man stands near the water his dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun, wearing a blue shirt with long sleeves rolled up to the elbows—exposing the thick dark lines of a tattoo—and a pair of dark jeans whose bottoms are awkwardly tucked into a pair of worn boots.

The man doesn’t notice Bilbo as he gets nearer, or if he does notice he doesn’t care to make it known.

Bilbo leaves some distance between them and faces out towards the lake.

“I guess I’m not the only one who enjoys this place,” Bilbo says, momentarily startled by his own voice. In all the time spent here throughout the week Bilbo has never spoken out loud here. It didn’t feel right interrupting the tranquility of the beach.

The dark-haired man’s shoulders tense but he doesn’t turn to acknowledge Bilbo, nor does he say anything in return.

“I’ve come to this beach for many years,” Bilbo adds nervously. He wants to say more, yet he doesn’t understand where the sudden urge to strike up a conversation came from. It’s definitely rude of him to expect a conversation from someone who is obviously not interested in having one.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Bilbo turns and walks away, having most certainly worn out his welcome. He’s nearly to the start of the trail when the man speaks up, his rich baritone stopping Bilbo in his tracks.

“When you’re here— do you ever feel as though you’re forgetting something important?” the man asks hesitantly.

Bilbo shifts to look back at the man, now staring right back at Bilbo.

The question makes little sense to Bilbo. He always feels like he’s forgetting something, but it’s largely because he has a bad habit of misplacing things, like his keys or his wallet.

“No, but when I’m here I feel more complete,” Bilbo answers. After thinking about it, perhaps being here doesn’t take his mind of it, so much as he feels like here belongs here—some piece of him is also a part of this place. Maybe not on the beach, per say, but in this part of the world.

The man looks almost unhappy hearing Bilbo’s answer, but he’s not sure what the man was expecting asking such a peculiar question.

The man nods and turns back to stare at the water, probably forgetting that Bilbo was ever there. Bilbo starts up the path again, confused by the entire exchange, and returns to his car.

Having already checked out of the bed and breakfast that morning, he gets in his little car and begins the journey home back to Hobbiton.

*

Since his vacation Bilbo finds his mind wandering to the odd man from time to time when there’s a break in his work.

During cold fall and winter nights Bilbo finds himself randomly humming a tune that he’s never heard before. The lyrics come to him like some old song he’s sung with the radio a billion times before, but he can’t do it proper justice.

 

_ Far over the misty mountains cold _

_ To dungeons deep and caverns old _

_ We must away ere break of day _

_ To find our long-forgotten gold _

 

While Bilbo sleeps he dreams of landscapes and people he doesn’t recognize. The strange man from the beach is a frequent visitor; sometimes he’s angry and other times relaxed and smiling. When Bilbo wakes up he barely remembers anything and blames it on the ridiculous TV shows he’s watched, or books he’s read.

Over several months the dreams happen less and less, and rarely does he hum unnamed songs, but a lingering need to remember something important takes their place. The wispy feeling of dread, believing he’s forgotten something, is more often than not overwritten by his work—restoring objects of significant historical value at the Hobbiton Museum, research, and giving lectures about the history of the region to school children (among other things). By mid summer Bilbo is already dreaming of his next vacation. As much as he enjoys his work, there’s a point which he is in desperate need of a recharge; thankfully schools being out for the summer have alleviated a nice chunk of his stress.

Unfortunately for Bilbo the museum is hosting a special exhibit on dragons, and he has the absolute displeasure of having to deal with its director—Aldebrand Smaug. The pretentious arrogance the man bleeds into his surroundings is enough to curdle milk, peel the paint off walls, and suck the souls out of everyone in a fifty mile radius—and Bilbo nearly kills the man barehanded with in the span of a few hours of meeting him. He works with Smaug for two weeks in preparation for the exhibit, and in that small amount of time Bilbo has never felt more exhausted. Even that Casari exhibit he had to put together two years ago seemed like heaven compared to this.

Bilbo takes his work seriously, and is exceptionally good at his job, but Smaug goes on and on about how Bilbo should be doing  _ this, _ and the museum’s procedures are  _ out of date, _ and blah blah blah!

Suffice it to say, Bilbo dumps Smaug and all the work on Lobelia—she owes him, after all—and takes his vacation a month early.

Bilbo pulls a lot of strings (and makes a few promises, such as helping out at the annual Hobbiton fair) to get the time off, but it will all be worth it to get out of town for a couple weeks. He goes home that night and makes reservations at the Black Arrow while doing the backlog of laundry he hasn’t had time to wash in the past week and a half.

Before he knows it he’s on his way back to Esgaroth.

Bilbo is far too exhausted to go to the beach on this year’s trip, so he heads right into town to the bed and breakfast. It’s a testament to how stressed and tired he’s been when he walks into his room and immediately falls face first into the bed and passes out immediately. He dreams of a dingy city sitting on top of a lake and the peak of a mountain in the distance, the sky is painted with the rich colors of dusk.

Despite his unorthodox sleeping position, Bilbo feels well rested and up for breakfast when he comes to. He’s not at all impressed with himself for sleeping in his clothes, but he grabs a fresh set of clothes and takes a shower. Now completely refreshed, he chooses a little cafe close to the wharf, choosing to walk after looking the place up on his phone. The town is bustling as he walks down the sidewalk and the sky is stubbornly azure, not a single cloud in sight—more importantly Bilbo has nowhere to be and takes his time.

To his surprise the cafe really isn’t a cafe at all, it’s more like a diner from his parent’s childhood. The walls are lined with booths, signs, pictures, and other memorabilia; a waitress stands behind a long counter refilling a customer’s cup with coffee; the closest section of the long counter to Bilbo has a large display filled with baked goods.

Bilbo slips onto one of the stools at the counter and orders pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon when the waitress comes around to him. The food is divine, and while he would much rather have tea, the waitress keeps him topped up on coffee. He makes sure to leave a little extra in the tip when it’s time to go.

Eventually Bilbo meanders back to the bed and breakfast and sets off to the beach in his little car.

There are few extra cars parked in the lot this time around but it doesn’t bother Bilbo too much—there is plenty of room on the beach for him and anyone else. He follows the path he always does, soaking up the scenery and the peaceful ambience, and when the trail ends and the beach begins his eyes light up once more. He takes a deep breath, the clean air of the wilderness filling his lungs, and sighs contentedly, letting the stresses of life fall away from him; it feels like a century’s worth of a caked on grime has been washed from him.

It’s quiet, and a quick look around the area Bilbo finds he’s all alone until his eyes drift further up the beach—he spots a man sitting on a chair set up on the sand. Bilbo can hardly make out the man’s details, but he remembers vaguely the man he had met the last time he was here. Well, not  _ met _ , but exchanged words with. He doubts it’s the same man, although that would be incredibly coincidental.

Bilbo shakes his head and ignores the man for the group of many different sized rocks nearby—opposite of the man—jutting up out of the water. When he was younger Bilbo often climbed trees and scaled rocks, he was rather good at it—surefooted. He’s not sure what it is that compels him to climb the rocks but he carefully hops on to each one, and they get bigger as he goes, until he scrambles up on top of the biggest boulder furthest away from the shore. The new angle proves to be less different than Bilbo thought it would be, but it makes him feel as though he’s sitting on top of the water.

He stands there for a few extra minutes before deciding it’s time to get down, and really that’s when he learns he’s made a grave error. Getting down is going to be a lot more tricky.

The distance between the boulder that he’s on and the one he wants to get to seems further apart than it had been going one way. He’ll be stuck here all night if he lets his fear get out of control, but it’s not the fear of heights or anything—he’s afraid of any water that rises higher than his thighs. Hindsight is always problematic.

There’s enough room on top of the boulder to get a running jump, and so, quashing the rising fear within him, Bilbo takes the leap of faith. As he lands on top of his target with an audible  _ oof, _ his arms pinwheel as he nearly topples forwards just barely managing to regain his balance. He sighs heavily with relief. Thankfully, the next several rock hops don’t seem nearly as intimidating.

“Thata boy, Bilbo,” he mutters an encouragement to himself.

Feeling more confident Bilbo takes the next jump. As he lands on the rock he quickly realizes he’s screwed up. He lands awkwardly on his foot, pain shoots up his leg from his ankle, and before he knows it he’s falling into the lake.

This moment in his life will always remain fuzzy.

His immediate reaction is to panic. He’s never been a good swimmer, and the fear of deep water only exacerbates the problem. He tires himself out quickly attempting to keep his head above water. But it’s not a lake he’s struggling to swim in, it’s a rushing river with an overpoweringly strong current and he’s frighteningly close to losing his grip on a barrel he’s desperately clinging to. There are shouts and howls when his hearing isn’t muffled by water covering his head. He doesn’t know how long he’s been fighting for his life, but eventually his arms and fingers grow too tired and cold, and Bilbo submits himself to his watery fate.

_ At least I managed to see them this far, _ is his last thought before succumbing to the darkness.

*

“Bilbo! Come on, Bilbo, wake up!” says a deep and desperate voice as warm arms gently shake him.

Bilbo whimpers—there’s a burning in his chest and his entire body aches.

“Thank Mahal!” the voice says again, the relief in their voice quite evident.

Bilbo reluctantly opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is a dark-haired man with worried blue eyes crouched over him.

“Thorin?” Bilbo says, the name slipping out before he realizes it’s happening. The man’s, no,  _ Thorin’s,  _ expression softens and he smiles down at Bilbo. Such a disarmingly caring and intense look makes Bilbo blush.

“You remember,” Thorin whispers with awe and disbelief.

Honestly, Bilbo isn’t sure what he remembers, but  _ Thorin, _ he remembers that name. He remembers the significance of it, his heart hurts at the thought of it. He sees flashes of images of this very man from a very different time leaving Bilbo in varying states of worry, distress, and pain. The familiarity that this region has enveloped him in for years starts to make sense.

“I remember you,  _ I think.” _ Bilbo says with uncertainty. What Bilbo knows for sure though is that this man saved his life when he thought he would be lost to the depths of the lake.

Thorin laughs, a deep and truly happy rumble that reverberates through Bilbo who is still very much in the circle of Thorin’s warm arms, and leans down to press his forehead to Bilbo’s. The intimacy of the act throws Bilbo for a loop and the beat of his heart quickens.

“I was so sure you wouldn’t remember. The last time—” Thorin pauses, shifting back again, his smile from only a second ago pulls down into a little frown, “—I wasn’t sure you would remember at all since you did not recognize me the first time we met here.”

_ Oh. _

That explains why the man tensed up when he attempted to speak to him.

Bilbo blinks owlishly up at Thorin after his little realization. “I wasn’t even aware. I had such strange dreams after I left, but I never thought they were anything but dreams.” 

After such an unfortunate event, Thorin’s name coming to him without issue, he is more amiable toward the possibility that all that he had dreamt had been real at some point. He knows deep down that he could trust Thorin, for obviously the man knew something of him, he never once told the man his name after all.

“I hoped to see you again one day,” Thorin says sadly. 

There is so much regret in his voice and it breaks Bilbo’s heart. He raises his aching arms up, letting his hands hold Thorin’s bearded face. Images flash in his mind: of Thorin, and sometimes him with Thorin. Some of them frighten Bilbo—there is fighting, death, a dragon—one image in particular is rather heart wrenching and lends credence to the sorrow in Thorin’s voice. Bilbo doesn’t notice the tears rolling down his cheek, all that matters is Thorin’s warmth and gentle a thumb rubbing his cheek.

Bilbo doesn’t quite understand what all this means for him, or for  _ them, _ but something within him finally feels complete. The longing, the emptiness, and the feelings of forgetfulness are gone and in their place is Thorin.

He suspects it has something to do with fate or destiny or both. While Bilbo never believed in either, he can believe in Thorin.

**Author's Note:**

> Casari - Quenya for dwarves
> 
> Aldebrand - Ancient Germanic for 'old fire' (suggested by the magnificent MistakenMagic. I almost named him Chad Jeffery Smaug)
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://tea-blitz.tumblr.com/)


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